


Can't Hide My Need

by Edwardina



Series: The Cherish 'Verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: AU, D/s AU, Dom/sub, M/M, Pet Names, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>Cherish Is the Word I'd Use</i>.  Collared, Sam tells his parents about his new Dom, and stumbles through his first school day in his cuffs totally subbed out.  Quinn comes back into the picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Hide My Need

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of [Cherish is the Word I'd Use](http://archiveofourown.org/works/805559), which is a D/s AU kink meme fill; please read that first. I really wanted some Sam perspective. Title from "Cherish" by Madonna. Takes place circa episode 217.

On the bus, Sam sat crammed up against the window and drifted.

He might as well have been on a space shuttle or something. His mind just felt like it was floating somewhere beyond the reaches of the galaxy like a satellite getting farther and farther away from Earth, every now and then sending grainy pictures of nebulas back to HQ. His thoughts were snapshots of what had happened, and what was ahead of him – what was on his wrists right then, peeking out from the stretched cuffs of his shirt – but he could only regard them for a moment before losing his will to concentrate. He longed to be back in Kurt's bathtub, or in his bed. Even if he was just waiting on his knees...

He was going to miss his stop if he didn't try and pay some attention. But it was so difficult. So he let himself tune out, knowing factually that it was weird for him to be sitting on the bus, all subbed out in front of some a few random strangers. Once he was off the bus, Sam would be officially back to juggling a billion things.

Eventually the bus pulled to a stop by a pitiful cluster of fast food places, and Sam managed to disembark without forgetting his backpack.

He trudged slowly across a bridge, making his way to the American Family Motel. Even from the bridge, he could see that their van wasn't in the parking space in front of their room. So it was just his mom at home with his younger siblings right then.

He wondered if he should wait.

Their door wasn't locked. It wasn't a nice enough motel for key cards. This one required normal keys. When he opened the door, Stacey leapt up from her spread of coloring books on the bed, probably happier for the minor commotion of Sam coming home than to actually see Sam himself, but he snagged her up and smooched her cheek, making a big fuss for her benefit. Stevie just idly continued to fill in Spider-Man with green and purple crayons. That was his thing lately: seeing what super-heroes looked like colored in totally differently. He was on his fourth of the exact same dollar store _Justice League_ coloring book.

"You're a little late, honey," Sam's mom commented. She was leaning over the want ads, motel pen in hand.

"I know. I'm sorry. Something, uh, kind of important came up," Sam said, letting Stacey hang upside-down from his arms. He swung her to and fro a bit, making her giggle loudly, and Sam's mom smiled.

"Was it something for that glee club again?"

"No, not that. Something else."

Sam hesitated. He knew once Stacey was out of his arms, his mom would probably notice the cuffs on his wrists anyway, and he didn't want to hide them. It was the weirdest mixed feeling; he was fit to burst, and he wanted to tell her because he was so happy, but he couldn't help the nervous twisting in his belly.

He remembered being back in their old house, talking to his mom and dad before even officially accepting Quinn's promise ring. They'd met her at church several times and he'd told them all about how she was so popular and had been head Cheerio, but he wanted them to know that she'd gotten pregnant last year and had a baby that she'd bravely given up for adoption. He'd wanted their approval, which he guessed was just the sub in him. He'd been fully aware that a teen mom might not be what they were expecting for his first Domme. But they'd assured Sam it was his choice and said Quinn seemed like a strong, motherly girl who now understood her actions had consequences. They liked that she was in church every Sunday. They liked that she always wore dresses and had good manners and a soft voice and a queenly demeanor. They'd even asked her to baby-sit for Stevie and Stacey many times while Sam had been her sub, which was kind of the ultimate stamp of approval, and Stevie and Stacey loved her and asked about her all the time.

When he'd asked Quinn to let him go and to forget about him, the Evans family been at the motel for two nights, and Sam hadn't wanted to pile his abrupt loss onto his struggling family. They'd only found out when Sam had stopped sitting with Quinn at church, and he hadn't told them he'd been the one to cut the tie or why. He figured they'd understand, but he just hadn't been able to say it out loud. It was bad enough that kids at school still gossiped about it and that he hadn't been the first to know Quinn had cheated on him. The last and only thing he'd told them was not to worry – someone else was considering him.

But they also hadn't had real time to ask about Santana. He was somehow strangely grateful they hadn't, because he would have lied to them and said she was better for him than Quinn and the one he wanted to belong to, and he was a really bad liar. And he was so ashamed of himself for the whole situation. He really was a terrible sub for not trying so much harder to make Quinn see that he was the best option, and for giving up. For being so prideful when it wasn't his prerogative to be that way. For being so misguided and needy that he'd accepted Santana's manipulative offer like a quick fix to his problems.

But things had taken a turn for him. A sharp one.

After what seemed like a tiny eternity, struggling to keep Stacey from simply back-flipping out of his arms, Sam asked, "Can we talk outside for a sec?"

Sam's mom, accustomed to private conversations taking place across the parking lot at a lopsided picnic table, simply said, "We can," and set down the pen with which she was circling want ads.

"Can I come?" Stacey asked. He carried her to the bed, plopping her on it, and gave Stevie an absent little push on the side of his blond head, earning himself an annoyed "Heeey!" in the process.

"No, honey. I'm just going to lecture your brother for being late," his mom told her, pulling her woefully thin tan cardigan tighter around her.

"I'll color with you when I get back," said Sam. "If I'm not in too big of trouble. If Mom'll let me."

"Mama, let Sammy color!"

"We'll see!" she said as he opened the door for her.

Sam wasn't beyond the feeling that it was slightly wrong to tell his mom something like this in a motel parking lot, but as soon as they were stepping over the oil spot their van left, it became too difficult to keep it in any longer.

"Uh – I got claimed," he blurted without any cushioning lead, and gulped, watching her brow pull and the late winter breeze tug at her hair.

"Claimed? Are you back with Quinn?"

He shoved his hands anxiously into both pockets. "No. Uh... someone else."

After a pause, his mom smiled, shaking her head. 

"Sam! That's... wonderful. I'm sorry, I forgot you had your eye on a different Domme. Things are just such a mess lately, I haven't been able to keep tabs on you. You're so busy with school and glee club and working your tail off at the pizza place. I didn't even get to ask you about this girl – you know, what she's like, and if you're ready to go through this again. But I guess it's too late for that. And you're looking like a squirmy puppy," she commented. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "I know that face. That's a happy face."

"Yeah," Sam said, mouth twisting all around uncontrollably. "I'm, uh. It wasn't like this with Quinn. I think this is different."

His mom reached up and stroked Sam's hair with a soft hand, and he bowed his head for her, comforted. "Do you?"

"Well, yeah. It's... actually totally different," said Sam, glancing up through his lashes at his mother's distracted face.

"Is she pretty?"

Sam paused. His heart was beating pretty hard. But in comparison to his whole afternoon, this seemed to just be the aftershock to the main quake. "I really don't know how to say this... so. I'll just say it. You'll think I'm weird, but. It's a guy. A guy claimed me."

"A guy," she repeated. Her expression was a lot like the one she'd made when Sam told her that he'd gotten groped by one of the guys at boarding school. "Well, honey, did you tell him no, or did he just decide he'd to try and dominate you no matter what you had to say about it? Because I will call his parents."

"I didn't say no," Sam said, closing his eyes. Almost every fiber of his being was concentrating on the reassuring grip of his cuffs around his wrists. "It's not like that. I'm happy about it."

"Sam," uttered his mom, confused.

"I – I still like girls," Sam said, aiming for reassuring.

"Is he on the football team?" she demanded.

"No, he's not. He's not bigger than me or stronger than me or pushing me around or offering me some kind of protection. And he's not making me drop the soap."

"Don't even joke about that," she told him, an index finger coming up.

"Sorry," Sam said quickly.

"I know that stuff happens, and thanks to that stunt at Brookside, I know how enticing a pretty face like yours is to older boys. Is that what this is about? One boy tries something with you and now you think you need to submit to boys?"

"Mom," muttered Sam, embarrassed. 

"That instinct to possess really flares up at your age, and sometimes, with unattached Doms, all that energy –"

"That wasn't like this – and I didn't even know I wasn't a Dom then! You remember I knocked that guy on his ass, right?"

She looked somewhat annoyed at the language, but nodded. "Yes, I remember. I know you can defend yourself."

"This is just different. I, I – wanted him to take me on, okay? I asked him to."

"Okay," she said blankly. "Well. You have been on the phone a lot the past month. I thought it was with a girl. I heard you talking about collars. So this is serious, huh?"

Sam's exhale took on a great weight, equal parts guilt and relief and lingering exhilaration, coming out of him long and apologetic as he shook his head.

"I didn't mean to hide it," he murmured. "I just didn't want to worry you or Dad. I know you don't need any extra crap. I didn't want to jinx it, either. I didn't know what was going to happen at all and I didn't want to get my own hopes up. He talked to me about collars but I didn't know if he was for real or if I was just some kind of joke, or something. I thought maybe he'd get sick of me, like whatever's wrong with me that made Quinn... that made that not work... might happen again."

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you," said his mom fiercely. Some part of him was relieved to hear something like that, but it still took everything Sam had to not let an avalanche of insecurities tumble out of his mouth. He bit down on the inside of his lip punitively.

"Okay," she repeated, breaking the relative silence of wind blowing and cars passing. She crossed her arms and gazed out at the highway. "Okay. ... All right. This is good, right? It's good?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay. If this makes you happy, Sam, that's all I want for you. You're my son and I love you and I want you to be happy with your Dom, whoever that is. I wish you'd told me sooner you were thinking about boys as an option. That's all. I don't think you're weird. It's just not what I was expecting to hear, that you've been claimed and that it's by a boy. It's a lot to hear at once."

"I know. I'm sorry. I should've told you when it started to happen. But I mean, I don't even know if I like guys. Besides him. Other dudes." Sam felt his brain tangle and had to let the whole line of thought go. "Whatever, it's not important. I don't care about anyone else like that, guy or girl. Just, I know that... I can't help the way I respond to him, and I don't want to help it."

"I know how that is," she said, giving him a pinched little smile. Sam could tell she wasn't angry with him, or bluffing, or on the verge of trying to talk him out of the arrangement again – just that it was new, and she was still processing it. And he knew how that was.

"He collared me," he told her, huffing sheepishly. "After school."

Sam wasn't sure how he wasn't face-down in the parking lot just saying so. Actually talking about it like this was so powerful. He saw his mom's gaze drop to his neck and tugged his hands out of his pockets for her, pushing his sleeves up one after the other and displaying his wrists. Sense memory whammied him, and again, he didn't know how he didn't fold instantly. The urge was slamming down on him like actual gravitational pressure on his shoulders, heavying his head. And of course, since she was his mom, she noticed.

"You can get on your knees if you want to, honey. I get it."

The cold gravelly parking lot was almost orgasmic on his knees, but Sam just flattened his lips together and rode out the shock of happy sensation, and then stared up at his mom, who had taken his hands in hers just like Kurt had earlier. She was looking at his cuffs with that thin smile.

"Well, they're perfect for you," she told him.

"You think?" he asked, dizzily pleased.

"Yep. Far more obtrusive than a ring, but that just means there's no mistaking these for anything other than a mark of ownership. This guy means business, huh?"

Sam took a deep breath, not entirely unfamiliar with having to deal with hard-ons with his family right up in his personal space, but, uh – he'd never exactly gotten aroused by his mom before, even on accident. He had to shove the swell of feeling down forcibly.

"Is he in the army?"

"No," laughed Sam, nearly wheezing.

"JROTC?"

"No."

"And he's not on the football team."

"No."

"It's not that Puckerman kid, is it."

Sam flinched. "No. God. It's not Puck."

"Wheelchair kid?"

"No! I'll tell you who it is! You don't have to guess random guys."

"I'm just trying to think who you've been hanging out with," she said, eyeing him.

"Uh, I don't think you've ever met him, but I think I probably mentioned him. Remember when I first joined glee club and we were assigned duets? I was listening to music in my room really loud and you came up and told me to turn it down and asked who I was listening to so loud and I said Faith Hill? Well, it was actually him. And remember when glee club had to do that wedding? That was his parents' wedding."

"Are you talking about what's-his-name? The guy who replaced you as quarterback? The tall one?"

"No! I swear, he's not on the football team. It's his step-brother. Kurt."

"Oh. No, I don't know him," she said, disappointed.

"No, I know. You haven't met him. But he sings like Faith Hill and he planned that whole wedding, I guess. He's, uh, kinda... I don't know the word, but..."

"Well, honey, just based on context clues, I'm guessing the word you're looking for might be 'gay.'"

"Uh... yeah, I guess," said Sam. He was floundering for how to describe Kurt to his mom without just dissolving into incoherent blather about his beautiful cock and how he'd allowed Sam to suck it. His mom might've been a sub, too, but she really didn't need to hear about that. "I mean. He is. And he doesn't try to hide it. But I mean... he's just... I guess he's..."

"Is he handsome?" his mom wondered, narrowing her eyes quizzically.

"God, I really don't know how to talk about him like that," Sam said, flushing.

"Right. Okay. I'm your mom and he's your Dom. I got it. I'll just have to meet him," she said, and gave his hands a tug.

He got the cue, pushing a knee up and raising himself from the uneven concrete, embarrassed that he'd actually fallen to his knees in front of his mom. It wasn't that he was ashamed of being submissive, even if he'd somehow gotten the idea growing up that if he knew what was good for him, he'd be a Dom. He just hadn't ever made it so obvious to his parents, even though they had commented about how it made sense when he'd woken up to the fact back at boarding school.

She gave his face a once-over, then turned back towards the room.

"Come on, now. Don't want to leave Stacey alone with crayons for too long. With her raging cabin fever, we might find her drawing all over the room. Remember when she did that in our house in Tennessee? Drew us a nice family portrait on the wall?"

"Yeah. And she made herself the tallest."

Sam took his mom's arm as they walked back across the little parking lot; they hadn't ever reached the picnic table.

Just being next to her, he could feel a raw sensitivity between them right then, but their family had survived so much in the past couple of months that he could also tell that this wasn't going to be a big deal in the long run. This was just a twist in the road, which was bumpy enough already. He stopped them suddenly and wrapped his arms around her in a clumsy hug.

"Oh. You're still my strong little man, Sammy," she whispered. "No matter whose collar you're wearing."

He let himself cling on for another second before letting her go. "I know. I'm still me."

"We'll tell your father tonight, okay?"

"Okay," agreed Sam. "I'm kinda nervous."

She stroked his hair. "Don't be. I know he just wants you to be happy, just like me. You kids are everything to us. The important thing is that we have a roof over our heads and dinner to make. And Sam, you do so much for us. I'll help you if you need, but. What your happy, smiling face doesn't say, those cuffs do. For what it's worth, I think your dad will really like 'em. You know how he loves his Army Surplus."

 

*

 

That evening, Sam stole outside with his lame pay-as-you-go cell phone to use some of his precious minutes talking to Kurt.

Most of his phone conversations took place outside, even if it was chilly or late, just because Sam wanted both privacy and to be able to concentrate fully, instead of having to block out the TV and censor his replies. He had to remember to keep it down so he wouldn't disturb anyone in the next room, and sometimes it was weird to catch himself sitting with his back against a dumpster with his dick hard, but it was still worth it times, like, a billion. Sometimes he had to stay in, though, like if he was sitting Stevie and Stacey, or if it was raining. But tonight, he definitely wanted to be totally alone with his Dom.

"Hi, there, cutie," Kurt purred. "I was hoping you'd call."

"Hey," said Sam shyly, even more vulnerable than usual to the casual pet name. "How's it going?"

"Hm, my day was exceptional," Kurt said. "How 'bout you? Still feeling like my good boy?"

"Yeah..." He slid past the plastic chairs sitting in front of their room and slid down the wall under the far window, curling up as far as he could from his family's door and drawing his knees up to rest his elbows on. Every time he was on the phone with Kurt, he was about one mild breeze away from getting hard, so it didn't take very much. Even though he'd actually been allowed to come several times that afternoon – a fact that he almost couldn't comprehend even though he knew it had happened – he felt as hair-triggered as ever.

"Still wearing your cuffs?"

"Yeah. I'm never gonna take them off, except for when I swim or I'm in the shower."

He heard Kurt hum delightedly. "Well, you are my good boy."

"I wanted to tell you something," Sam said, before Kurt could get him much more worked up and he forgot.

"You have my complete attention."

"I told my parents. About us."

"You did."

"Yeah. I mean, there was no way they would miss these cuffs on me, and like I said, I'm not taking them off."

"What did they say?" Kurt asked lightly. Sam could tell he was really curious, but trying not to expect anything.

"They were pretty surprised, but. It's fine. They're fine. My mom really wants to meet you."

"Oh! Well, that's a relief. What about your dad? Is he pissed?"

"No, don't worry. He's, uh." Sam lowered his voice, just in case. "I think it'll take a few days for it to really sink in with them. I just sprung it on them. But it's not like he's mad. He knows I've dealt with guys before, a little bit."

"Oh? Does he know about your boarding school sub?" teased Kurt.

"There were a couple of different incidents at boarding school. But he doesn't know that one. He just knows what's up. He's a Dom, so."

"One day you'll have to tell me about those incidents and we'll have to have a more in-depth discussion about what your parents know," said Kurt. "But for now I just want to know how you're doing. Are you okay and everything?"

"I'm okay. It's been an epic day," admitted Sam.

"I know..." Sam deeply suspected Kurt either had no idea how teasing and flirty and superior he sounded or that he couldn't help the beckoning curl of his voice. Or, hell, maybe he was in total control of it, just like he was of everything else. Either way, Sam exhaled in a soft shudder, and Kurt went on knowingly. "You didn't know when you woke up this morning that by the end of the day, you'd be a collared, fully claimed little sub. And I mean _fully claimed_."

"Mn," Sam agreed, biting his lip.

"Are you sore?"

"Kinda, I guess. It's not bad. Sitting feels kinda weird."

Kurt chuckled, warm but dark and kind of devious. "Sorry. I didn't plan on any of that happening. In fact, I naively thought I'd collar you and then take you by the hand to glee, where we'd be the envy of all. Me with my sweet little sub, both wrists locked up in those thick cuffs. I confess I had visions of you putting your head on my shoulder while Rachel sang 'Justify My Love' as a piano ballad in honor of the occasion. I had no idea what collaring you would do to me."

Sam squeaked helplessly. It was kind of all he could manage.

"I meant what I said, you know," Kurt continued, not sensing the need for mercy. "If you didn't want me, physically, I'd still want you as my sub. Even if it meant never doing anything but feeding you at lunch and helping you at school. But when you said you'd been dreaming about touching me, I could hardly believe it. I was worried you were confused."

"No, Kurt, I wanted to – I really wanted to," Sam whispered.

"I know, honey. You won me over, asking me if you could suck my dick. You even swallowed my come, didn't you?"

"Mm," moaned Sam, unbelievably riled. With the memory called up in his head, he felt like he was right back in the passenger seat, close to having the hot rigid curve of Kurt's dick in his mouth. More than anything, he wished that Kurt was there with him right then, unzipping his jeans and taking out his cock so Sam could suck it right then and there. It was kind of a weird fantasy, thinking about sucking Kurt off while curled in the corner of the porch in front of his family's motel room, but he would've done it, so eagerly and gratefully. But it reminded him for the umpteenth time that Kurt had no idea that he lived here, and he felt the familiar tinge of guilt and unworthiness that often followed his dreams and fixations. It felt sort of like he was dirty and needed a decontamination shower and to go through finishing school before he should be allowed to suck Kurt's dick again, but worse.

"Then I totally lost it," sighed Kurt, before Sam could spin out. "I just meant to inspect you. Give you a little reward 'cause you were so good, trying so hard to be such a perfect sub for me. But I just lost my mind when you let me see your little hole. I can't believe I wound up fucking you. Hm, Sam. I couldn't resist my sub, could I?"

"Sorry," Sam got out, voice caught high up in his throat. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

"No, you don't have to apologize. All of that was under my control, Sam. I wouldn't have let any of it happen if I thought you were just trying to be good and nothing else."

"I – I was trying to be good."

"Do you feel like you can talk about what it was like for you to do all that with me?"

"I'll try... I mean, I'll do whatever you want," Sam said through a lump in his throat.

"I know you will," Kurt told him. "But I want your real feelings. I won't be happy or satisfied unless you are being totally truthful with me and are telling me things straight from the heart. Do you understand that, Sam?"

"Yes. I know what you're talking about," Sam said. His ears were buzzing. He couldn't pinpoint the sensation exactly as either distress or arousal. He was just somehow psychologically twisted up. Every fold in his brain was Kurt's. "You don't want me to lie or put on an act."

"Exactly," said Kurt, sounding pleased. "That's good, Sam. I'm glad you get that."

For some reason, that loosened the knot of tension pounding in Sam's head and chest, and he took a deep breath.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie," said Kurt, after Sam's breath invaded the receiver and probably came out on his end like a staticy mess. "Did you think I was getting my discipline on? I'm not trying to do that. I'm just kind of reeling. Being with you like that was unbelievable, and you are extremely pleasing to me, Sam. But I'm going to be honest with you, too. I did not expect it, and I have no idea if I should expect it to happen again. And I want to know what you want so I can be the best master for you. I'm happy with you no matter what."

"I can be totally honest?" Sam asked, eyes closed.

"Yes. That is the only thing I absolutely must have from you."

"I think I get what you want – or, what you don't want," reported Sam, letting thoughts spill out of him. "You don't want it to be a gray area, you want it to be black and white. Like straight or not straight, and you think of me as straight. And just, I don't know, you're afraid I'm just putting out because I think I have to if I want to please you. And I get it, like, just as a person – like, I would've done anything for Quinn, but knowing she didn't really want me and wasn't being honest with me about it, I couldn't handle it. I get how if you thought I wasn't interested, you wouldn't be happy with me and you'd want something else. No matter what you say, I think you want me to want you, too, or else you – you wouldn't be worried about having sex with me. You wouldn't think twice if I was just full-on gay."

After a momentary pause, Kurt said, "You're right. You're right, Sam. I guess I do need this to be black or white, at least in terms of whether or not we have sex. I don't think I could be happy just taking it from you whenever I want without regards to your feelings, or using it on you strictly as a training method. Although, I have to admit, even as I tell you that, the idea of taking you at my leisure or at least disciplining you physically with you having no say in the matter is still somehow appealing to me."

Sam felt his breath catch.

"But emotionally, I'm not one of those Doms," Kurt continued, leaving Sam with a raw, confused feeling he didn't really understand in his chest. "I don't think I could do it long-term, thinking you're wistful for something else.

"That being said, I actually do mean that I could be very happy with you in, uh... a completely platonic capacity. I know that sounds weird and old-fashioned. I don't know if you can see eye-to-eye with me on this one, but it's more than enough for me. It's extremely gratifying for me to be your Dom even without sex. But I need to make sure you're taken care of, or I shouldn't have a sub. So while it's a little unusual for someone our age to have multiple submissives, if you think you'd prefer to have sex with girls, I'd find and take on a girl sub for you, Sam, and train her along with you, or – there's all kinds of arrangements we can make. So it's either/or, is what I'm saying. Either we have sex because you want to have that physical connection with me, or we don't have sex because we can make each other happy without it. I know I can take better care of you than any girl in every other way. The gray area is that I still have the need to exercise dominion over you in a physical way. ... Does that make sense?"

"To keep being honest, I haven't thought about girls at all since I was with Santana," said Sam. His mind was officially blown. "You're, like, more obsessed with me being with girls than I've ever been, and I don't really get why. Yeah, I do like girls. But I don't need them. I don't need to have sex with them. I've never even actually had full-on sex with one. I'm – I'm trying so hard not to just beg you to tell me what to say to make you happy. I promise, I'm trying to be honest with you."

"I can tell," said Kurt. "And I appreciate it. Just as a person, like you said."

"Did I do something wrong?" Sam asked, clueless.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Kurt told him firmly. "This was my overly-complicated way of trying to find out if you want to have sex with me, given all the possible options."

"Yeah... of course I do, if – if it's okay with you," said Sam, putting his head down on his forearm to cradle the phone in secret.

"Right. If it's okay with _me_ ," Kurt laughed.

"I don't know if things are okay unless you tell me they're okay. I abide by your wishes."

"You need my permission to want me? Or my instruction?"

"I want you anyway," Sam said to his knees. "You're my Dom!"

"But you don't know if that's okay?"

"I'm confused. It's not my place to decide what's okay with you and me," Sam whispered insistently. "I don't know anything. I didn't know if you would ever want to use me."

"How could I not."

Sam stayed quiet. There were a metric ton of reasons that popped up in his mind, but he was really trying not to say bad things about himself; Kurt didn't like it, and he was actually kind of scared that if he pointed them out, Kurt would realize Sam was right and didn't deserve him and would ask him if he wanted to go back to being friends. The clunking of the ice machine nearby just served to underscore the whole situation.

Over the phone, Kurt sighed softly.

"Can I tuck you in tonight, cutie?"

"Please?"

"Yeah? Would that make you a happy boy?"

Sam closed his eyes again, trying to block out where he was. "Yeah. Please tuck me in, Kurt."

"What do you want right now? What sounds cozy to you?"

Curling up tighter, aware of the buckle of his cuff against his knee, he said, "I want to go to sleep feeling like... a good sub. Get in my sleeping bag with my cuffs on and think about how you collared me in front of everyone and took me to your room and made me... Just think about you till I fall asleep."

"Is that what you'd think about, cutie-pie?" Kurt asked softly.

"Yes," Sam admitted pathetically, and snuffled, feeling tears well up from the sheer intensity of it all. Why didn't Kurt understand? "I think about you all the time. You'd be mad if you knew how much."

"Mad? More like mad flattered. Tell me more about this, um, sleeping bag situation."

"– Uh," uttered Sam, something in his ragged, needy soul coming to crooked attention. His brain refused to budge once he realized what he'd said.

"Do you sleep in a sleeping bag?" asked Kurt, as if this was adorable.

Sam sniffed awkwardly. He had to be honest. That was more important than anything else. "Yeah."

"Ohh. Okay, then. So when you go to bed, you're gonna snuggle down in your sleeping bag, cuffs on your wrists. What do you wear to bed?"

"Um... a t-shirt or wifebeater. Sweatpants. Socks. It's kinda cold out, still."

"Very good. I'm getting a mental image of you going to sleep in your cuffs and everything..."

"Is it okay if I sleep in them?"

"Definitely. I'd love it if you slept in them."

Sam felt heartened; Kurt really had him on a string, which was not altogether new, but it was extreme now that these cuffs were on his wrists. That weird invaded, vaguely sore feeling of having been full of Kurt's dick had become impossible to repress since Kurt had asked him about it. He had yet to even start to really think in his own private time about actually having been touched and allowed to come by his Dom, let alone fucked, and yet he knew he wanted anything and everything his Dom would consider him worthy of.

"Are you gonna touch them?" Kurt asked him, catching his wandering thoughts.

"Yes," said Sam openly. "A lot."

"Do they feel good on? Not too heavy or bulky?"

"They're heavy. I like that they're heavy. I can't stop feeling them on me. I can't forget they're there."

"Hmm," Kurt let out in satisfaction. "I love thinking about this. I think about you all the time, too, you know."

"You think about me?" whispered Sam, floating on the words. 

"Mm-hmm. What else?"

"You... collared me."

"That's right, I did," said Kurt affectionately.

"I know you don't want me to say this, but – I don't deserve you, Kurt."

"Sam..."

"No other Dom would take on another sub just for me. A sub they couldn't even use. Please don't hate me, but that's insane."

"Mm, well."

"Please don't get someone else," Sam said fervently. "Smack me down if you want, punish me. I deserve it. It's not my place to ask anything of you and you can do whatever you want. I'm being totally selfish. I don't want to share you. You just claimed me. I promise I'm – I can be a good boy for you."

"I like that you're being honest with me," Kurt told him. "And hearing you put it like that makes me realize how it must've sounded to you. Let me clarify. I definitely am not in the market for another sub. This is not a Quinn situation. You are all I want. I just _need_ to dominate you, Sam. I need to. Believe me, I wouldn't have thought that taking on two subs was anything other than incredibly unrealistic and laughably assuming before today. But now that you're wearing my collar and things have taken this turn and I am up here on Cloud Nine, I realize I would do anything to make sure you're taken care of."

Sam just shook his head, two tears escaping simultaneously down his cheeks. Again, he couldn't have described the feeling as being upset – just worked up and full of feelings, so full he couldn't hold all the feelings in him without a tinge of pain. It was ridiculous to be crying, but it was all so much.

"'Kay. Thanks," he choked awkwardly, inadequately.

"I'll let you go here in a second so you can crawl into your sleeping bag and get some rest after the day you've had. I just want to tell you before I go that I'm really happy and touched you told your parents about us."

"Really?" Picking his head up again, Sam felt his mouth pulling this way and that, like his tear-streaked cheeks were fighting for possession of his smile.

"Yeah. It's major, Sam. Huge. I'm proud."

"It took me forever," Sam admitted, pushing his cheek into his shoulder to try and dry his tears. More rolled down and soaked his shirt. The surge of happiness he'd felt carried another wash of guilt in with it. He was so unworthy, keeping all these secrets.

"I'd like to meet your mom, too. Both your parents, I mean. Maybe when the dust settles for them?"

"That'd be good," Sam breathed.

"We can talk more about it in a few days. For now, I think you should get yourself comfy-cozy for me, bundled up in your sweatpants and socks and sleeping bag, and dream some sweet dreams. Wear a hoodie tomorrow, okay? Or anything else with sleeves you can have pushed up. I intend to show you off to the entire school."

Sam hummed, his body bursting with frantic arousal like he was an engine Kurt had just revved, and became incapable of speech.

Kurt sang, "Sleep tight, happy camper."

 

*

 

The next morning, Sam stood at Kurt's locker with a barely quelled sense of urgency, wearing his dark green hoodie over a plain gray McKinley Athletics t-shirt, fingers locked around his notebook and wrists on stark display with his sleeves pushed up his forearms.

Some people slowed their journeys to their homerooms as they passed him by, eyes obviously caught on his wrists. Sometimes it incited a flurry of hushed conversation after they passed him. Sam could think of a lot of collarings that had happened since the beginning of his year at McKinley – including his own. The head cheerleader picking the new kid for a sub had been as big a deal as you'd expect. But Kurt was the only gay kid at McKinley, and Sam was now officially attached to him. Even if Sam had been at Kurt's side for weeks, to the eyes of others clearly out of the closet and in consideration, it was obviously still whisper-worthy.

Speaking of worthy.

Kurt was the only thing Sam could even see in the mornings, and today was no exception. He came in through the door from the student parking lot with that sway in his walk, his bookbag on one shoulder like a purse, and his black boots laced up to his knees and a black vest with about a hundred tiny buttons fastened all the way up to his throat, and Sam couldn't breathe. He straightened his posture, winding up pushing up onto his toes in his Converse, hoping Kurt would see him through the throng of students.

He did, of course, and smiled at Sam with hot eyes before turning his gaze to the lucky floor.

Internally in a tizzy, Sam reached for Kurt's combination lock, his focus pulsing laser-sharp so he could get the combination right on the first try. Twenty-four. Six. Nineteen. He opened Kurt's locker for him just as Kurt reached it.

"Morning, sunshine."

"Hi," said Sam, on pins and needles.

Kurt looked him up and down, then said, "Love your outfit."

Sam tried not to drop his notebook from hands that felt suddenly weak. He couldn't help looking down at his cuffs again, and tried to tug up one slipping sleeve, but it proved to be too great a feat just then. Kurt smiled, smug, and proceeded to unload one book and exchange it for another, then reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Sam's ear.

"You haven't taken them off at all, have you?"

Sam shook his head. The cuffs had been on him since Kurt had fastened them yesterday afternoon, and he had a legitimately hard time fathoming removing them. While drifting off on the floor, safe in his sleeping bag, he'd halfway convinced himself he could get by on baths at Kurt's and asking his mom to wash his hair in the sink, just so he wouldn't have to ever take them off. Unrealistic and dumb and kinda gross, yes, but most of his fantasies were.

Kurt shut his locker and tilted his head, looking at him. Maybe, like Sam, he was thinking about Sam's arms propped up on the sides of his tub, and his own sleeve rolled up to reveal pale skin and dark but fine hair on his arm, and his hand sliding across Sam's skin under the layer of bubbles, touching him in all kinds of places. He asked, "Have you been to your locker already?"

"No. I just had to have something to hold in front of me," said Sam, flushing.

"Ah, I see. Well, let's get your books, then, cutie."

Kurt took him by the elbow, drawing him down the bustling hall. Sam's locker was around a corner and near the end, just enough of a walk to feel like he really was being publicly escorted whenever Kurt took him there.

They passed Dave Karofsky, who just gave them a disgusted sneer, but Kurt paid him no mind, and Sam was too distracted by the utter realness of the fact that he needed to keep his lap area covered to stare him down – or to see Jacob Ben Israel coming.

"Kurt Hummel," the guy said stoutly, in his allergic-to-everything voice, and thrust a small tape recorder in their faces, stopping them in their tracks. "How does it feel to be McKinley's first ever gay Dom?"

"None of your business," Kurt said immediately. He couldn't seem to resist adding, "And I'm hardly the first."

He pushed on, and Sam came with, but Jacob followed them so closely that the tape recorder bumped Sam's ear.

"How does it feel to be out and about with your newly-minted submissive, notorious ex-hunk, ex-quarterback and and ex-slave to the hottest girls in school –"

"Leave us alone, Jacob," said Kurt.

"– and how long do you think it will be before he begs to be released?"

"I'm not doing that!" Sam snapped, offended down to his last particle.

"Sam Evans, is there any truth to the rumor that you were paid in boxes of Clairol by Quinn Fabray for five months of docile servitude? What do you have to say in response to Santana Lopez's claim that you're one-quarter dead fish?"

"That's ridiculous," Kurt interjected, "and Sam has nothing to say to you and your gossip blog's pathetic readership of cyber bullies."

"Gossip? Oh, no. This is hard-boiled journalism," claimed Jacob. "So, Sam: When can we expect to see you in a buzz cut and fatigues? How are you going to celebrate setting the school record for Most Doms Attained In One Semester? Is it true that you were kicked out of the prestigious Brookside Academy For Boys due to your insatiable hunger for man-flesh?"

"Can I shove him?" Sam asked, hot-faced.

"Ignore him," advised Kurt. "No comment, Jacob."

"Go ahead, maintain your silence. Everyone knows 'no comment' always means 'yes.'"

"My dad got a new job," Sam growled, batting Jacob's recorder away from his face. "I wasn't expelled. We moved. And fish-people aren't real! Look it up!"

Huffing, Kurt tugged Sam away, glaring over his shoulder at Jacob, who was clutching the tape recorder like it was a kitten Sam had just tried to choke. Sam managed to hold in his irritation until they were around the corner.

"How did he find out my school?" Sam burst.

"I doubt he did anything but Facebook-creep," said Kurt, arm sliding around Sam's. "Don't pay any attention to him. And don't give him any information. Hard-boiled journalism, my butt. He's just scrounging for dirt and trying to get a rise out of you because his entire sense of self-worth comes from how many page hits he can get from the Old Maids Club."

It took Sam another minute or so to shake himself out of his distracted anger. He realized he and Kurt were simply standing at his locker, and reached for his lock with a blush.

"Geometry today, right?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah."

"You finished that in study hall yesterday."

"Mm."

"Look at me, Sam."

Sam, who could not remember his combination for the life of him, dropped his hand and looked at Kurt, embarrassed. Kurt looked expectant to him, with his eyes keen on Sam's face, but he just gave him a little smile and reached up with both hands to caress Sam's overly-warm cheeks.

"Are you okay?"

Sam's jaw flexed as he clenched it and nodded, giving into the sweet pull of being centered and steadied there in the hallway. He felt his head bowing, even though Kurt was holding his face; it really didn't matter to him if students and teachers were passing by.

"You don't have to be at school today, if you think it'll be hard to sweat the haters," Kurt told him.

"No, I don't care about them. I wanna be here," Sam murmured apologetically, ashamed of his short fuse. "Sorry. You said to ignore him and I didn't. I'm really sorry."

Kurt's thumbs stroked Sam's cheeks; he wasn't freshly-shaven and could feel the fine grit of his stubble in his skin under Kurt's touch. For a long moment he let Sam dangle, so long that Sam was sure he was going to be disciplined, then said, "It's fine. I like that you don't let people push you around. You don't roll over for just anyone."

"Just you," Sam said.

"That's exactly right." Kurt caressed Sam's shoulders, mouth and eyebrow both quirked. "Now open your lock. Eleven..."

"Eleven, twenty, eight," Sam said gratefully, the numbers popping back into his head, and obediently twisted his lock open.

"Show me your homework," Kurt instructed, taking Sam's notebook out from under his arm. Sam pulled his geometry book out, showed the papers tucked inside it to Kurt even though Kurt had helped him finish it yesterday and already knew it was done, and slid the papers into the front pocket of his trapper. He did the same for his sloppy Spanish definitions and geography worksheet, perking when Kurt declared, "Good! You're all set. Walk me to French?"

Sam did. Normally he would have taken Kurt's books, even if they were in his bag and Sam wound up with it on his shoulder, but Kurt took his arm like before, then slid his hand down to hold Sam's wrist. The warm pressure right over his cuff resulted in Sam having to shift his notebook over his lap again, and a total daze that Kurt just smirked at. When they got to the French room, Sam's fingers got a squeeze, then Kurt said, "Don't be late," and strutted off.

Mind kind of a jumble between the instructions, shielding his arousal that was so constant and so close to the surface, and the stinging insinuation that he would dare ever give up on literally the best thing in his life, Sam hurried up to the second floor for geometry.

He only just made it. The bell rang about five seconds after he eased himself into his chair at the table he shared with a Cheerio who had literally refused to speak to him since he'd broken up with Quinn. It was awkward, since they sometimes had to grade each other's papers. She marked down little red frowny-faces every time he messed up a proof. And she ignored him as he rocked on the spot, trying to be subtle about the momentary discomfort. He'd discovered sitting was something he could do casually enough, but he still felt it this morning – the fact that Kurt had fucked him.

From the table behind him and over one, Puck spoke up.

"Badass cuffs, dude. Heard tell in glee club that Hummel put you on lockdown. About time."

Sam ducked his head with pride, grinning, and pushed his slouching sleeve back up so both cuffs were fully visible. Puck nodded in approval. The Cheerio in the seat next to him eyed his wrists dubiously, but when it came time to grade homework, Sam drew a smiley face on her paper anyway. And when he got his homework back, he was shocked to see a red 95% on the top of the page and the words _good job!_ in bouncy writing. He should've guessed she was a Domme.

Ecstatic to have something to show Kurt later, Sam stared at the words. Kurt had, after all, helped him do a good job.

 

*

 

All morning long, Sam collected odd congrats. From Puck in geometry, from Mike and Tina in the hallway before second hour, from the astronomy teacher Ms. Castle (who seemed like she was kinda drunk, or just really, really into army men). He got a jumbled catcall from Becky Jackson, and girls who had never talked to him before said stuff like, "Did you have those on yesterday?" and "Oh, your cuffs are so cute! You wear them on both wrists? Wow." A guy in his English class said, "Fly, dawg! Where you get those bracelets?" Sam was able to say, "My Dom got them for me," and got a "Cool, man. Those things is tight. You a sub, huh? That's cool, that's cool," in response.

All morning, people looked at him.

All morning, the cuffs held his wrists. When he wrote things, the thick bands pressed between his wrist and the paper. When he raised his hand, he was holding his collar up to the entire room. When he crossed his arms in his lap, the cuffs added a bulk he couldn't ignore.

By lunch, he was edging into blue-balling it, he'd gotten wood so many times.

It had to be some kind of record. He sat with Kurt, Artie, and Mercedes in near-silence, sure he might spontaneously cream himself if he didn't try his best to have some mental self-discipline. The Cheerio from his geometry class was sitting with a gaggle nearby, and all eyes were on them. But when asked how his morning classes went, Sam showed Kurt his 95%, and then got fed a cookie piece by piece, which was weirdly, like... hot... so then he couldn't help his hard-on.

"Tone it down, Kurt," Mercedes said dryly.

Kurt said, "This is toned down."

"What, you don't think this is a riveting art film playing out before our very eyes?" Artie asked Mercedes.

"Uh, no. I think it's like watching a golden retriever mack on a dog biscuit," said Mercedes. "No offense, Sam."

"Well, I think it's great," said Artie. "I'd shoot it in black and white. Lots of close-ups of Kurt's fingers brushing the crumbs off Sam's chin. No dialogue, no soundtrack, just a portrayal of unlikely domination. Very artistic. Just a light NC-17."

"Oh, ha ha," said Kurt. "You two can do whatever you want with your subs, and so can I. Sam got an A-plus. Now he gets a cookie."

Artie and Mercedes shared a bemused look.

Afterwards, Sam had geography and Kurt had history. Sam colored in a map while Mrs. Hagberg showed them an outdated documentary on a gigantic CD. They met back up after that for study hall.

Kurt had not been in his study hall until he'd engaged Sam as a sub. Apparently he did some finagling with Ms. Pillsbury to get into it, flipping a couple of his classes and dropping another entirely, but since Kurt was a junior and in A.P. classes to boot, it was the only kind-of-class they had together. None of their sciences or electives overlapped, so really, the only other time they were in a classroom together, it was the choir room. Sam was dead sure he didn't deserve the fuss, but besides glee, study hall was usually the best part of Sam's school day. It wasn't an actual class to pass or fail, and provided an uninterrupted fifty minutes with Kurt. And today they had Miss Holliday, who was one of those teachers who clearly didn't care if they actually studied in study hall or not, and suggested they answer her casual roll call with "Who dat!"

Unfortunately, Jacob Ben Israel was also in their study hall; he was listening to his stupid tape recorder with ear buds, and when he saw Sam and Kurt, he shoved it into his zippered vest like they might try to take it from him. Kurt iced him right out, and Sam did his best to ignore the guy entirely.

"Glee guys!" greeted Miss Holliday, after telling the class to do some homework or whatever. "How's it goin'? What's up with you two?"

"Oh, nothing much, really," said Kurt modestly, hand sliding over the pulled-up sleeve on Sam's forearm.

"Like I can't see those rad military cuffs," she said, grinning. "Congrats!"

"Why, thank you," Kurt said, in that utterly curling way that made Sam weak inside.

"Thanks," he echoed quietly, head bowed.

"You two are the talk of the school," Miss Holliday informed them. "Way to get some spirited debate going. Hey, Brett. 'Sup, brah."

"I love you being collared," Kurt whispered excitedly, chuckling. Sam put his heavy head right down on one bicep, beaming into the scribbled-on table, and basked with his arms stretched out as Kurt pet his hair back out of his eyes. "I love people knowing you belong to me with just one glance."

Sam considered telling Kurt about what his mom had taken away from the sight of them: _this guy means business_. Instead, he asked shyly, "Do you want me to study?"

"Not today. Today I'm just going to study you, cutie. How 'bout that?"

Sam nodded, ankles crossing under his chair.

"I'm so proud of your near-perfect grade on your geometry," Kurt told him, fingers sliding through Sam's hair slowly. "You worked so diligently yesterday. You deserve that A."

Dizzy, Sam closed his eyes, his mouth perking. He felt Kurt lean, chest warm, and felt his nose brush the back of his neck, and the hot trace of breath as he spoke for Sam only.

"Don't move. Jacob Ben Israel is watching me pet you."

Something about that made Sam's pulse spike; he was still irritated from the barrage of questions that morning, but more than that, Kurt had effortlessly taken a grip on his internal workings and pulled them taut. He exhaled against the table, his own breath loud in his ears, and his Dom rested his chin on Sam's shoulder.

"He's not going to stop me," Kurt whispered indulgently. "I'm going to touch you all I want, Sam."

Sam shivered, the skin on the back of his neck prickling over harsh with goose bumps.

"I can do that, can't I. Especially now."

Even though he sensed it was a rhetorical question, Sam still nodded, brows knotting, and felt Kurt's hand slide right over his neck and fiddle with the collar of his t-shirt. It took Sam a second to realize he was just tucking the tag in, and his belly clenched with nonsensical disappointment.

Kurt's hand rested gracefully between his shoulder blades, giving him a perfectly innocent little rub. Sam tried not to clench his fingers or arch his back for more; Kurt had told him not to move. The delicate weight of Kurt's chin disappeared from his shoulder, just to be replaced a second later with a press that Sam only worked out as a kiss when he heard Kurt's lips part gently from the fabric of his hoodie with that tell-tale smooch noise.

Study hall evaporated completely. Sam's heart thunked loudly in his ears for a minute, then softened, and his breaths went shallow and almost unnecessary-feeling, like he didn't really need to take in any air to exist, small and contained. His senses tuned themselves to Kurt and held there, keeping him hanging calmly between casually proprietary strokes over his spine and what he thought was maybe Kurt's cheek resting on him. His brain felt kind of like when he'd laid in Kurt's backseat after Rachel's weird party, only then he'd been drunk, heavy; he'd only stopped wishing the seats were really a Jim Henson creature that would just swallow him and take him away to some other world because Kurt had told him he would take care of him. This was a little different. This was light and there was hardly any thought, like on the bus. Kurt's hand relocated to Sam's thigh, caressing the muscle of it casually, an anchor keeping Sam from floating away totally.

Before he knew it, the bell was ringing, and he moaned softly, resenting the disruption.

"Did you fall asleep, sub?" Kurt asked quietly, only barely audible through the scrape of chairs against the floor and students making their way out of the classroom, chatting, and Miss Holliday's voice. The short but totally direct word – not even a pet name, but exactly what he was – hit Sam like an arrow to the gut, jerking him up hard out of the calm. Arousal flooded the empty space in him violently.

"No," he gasped. "Just being pet."

Kurt giggled. "Not the most productive study hall of all time, but I did pore over my favorite subject."

"...I don't want to go to Spanish," Sam groaned.

"Mm, I don't want to go to home ec, either," said Kurt, patting him. "But we should get moving."

For the first time since he'd put his head down, Sam moved, thoughtlessly pulling his arm off the table and reaching for Kurt. So far all he'd earned (and just barely, at that) was the right to touch Kurt's sleeve, or maybe just the edge of his shirt; in glee club, Sam sat with his arm on the back of Kurt's chair, fingers sometimes brushing over Kurt's bicep, and sometimes Kurt settled in under him, making Sam the happiest person in the room. But right then Kurt's arm was still around him, so Sam touched his side tentatively instead, fingertips grazing the silky-feeling back of a vest.

"Hm?" Kurt responded, used to the way Sam asked for his attention. His head tilted down with mindful curiosity, his face coming close to Sam's.

Sam didn't actually have anything to say; he knew he couldn't seriously ask Kurt if he could just skip Spanish and stay in here with him instead. He shook his head, temple mushed into the table, and Kurt exhaled in a little puff and pecked the corner of Sam's mouth.

"Come on, sweetie, wake up," Kurt whispered, lifting Sam's head with the words. But he hung there, eyes shut, and Kurt's nose brushed his, and Sam was kissing him – kissing him like he'd kissed Quinn and Santana, on the mouth – for a few mysterious heartbeats before Miss Holliday busted them.

"Glee guys. Really?"

"Sorry," Kurt responded; Sam could hear the insincerity in his voice. He glanced up, but all he really took in was Miss Holliday's hands on her skinny hips before turning his face into the table, skin fiery and throbbing.

"You may notice, now that you're not sucking face, that the entire class has left and the room is now empty."

"Yes, we see," Kurt said, panting. "Why so empty?"

"This is my free period," said Miss Holliday, pushing in a chair left askew. "But as down as I am with PDD, you both probably have a class to get to, si?"

"Si, si, profesora," replied Kurt, sitting back and tugging on the slouch of Sam's hood. "This one has Spanish, actually."

"Ooh, say hola to Mr. Schuester for me."

"I'm sorry, Miss Holliday, but would you give us a minute? We need to gather our stuff, so to speak."

"Sure, but that had better not be a double entendre," she said cheerily, and walked off towards the back of the classroom, the light scuffle of chairs sliding on linoleum following her.

Kurt waited a moment before leaning forward to talk to him again. "Are you there, Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam whuffled.

"You're kind of spacey. You sure I didn't put you to sleep?"

"No. I'm awake, I'm just... can we wait here for a second." In case Miss Holliday was closer than it sounded, he added in a whisper, "I'm super hard."

Kurt's hand came to the back of his neck. "Oh?"

Sam couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing, but he wanted to squirm.

"All day, I keep..." he muttered, a vague flush of shame pulling through him. Maybe Kurt was right; maybe he should've gone home. He was used to getting hard when he was on the phone with Kurt and, yeah, he'd left study hall with a boner before. They happened. They happened to Kurt, too, if he started being really Dommy and all about calling Sam his good boy. But today Sam was a hot mess. "Sorry..."

He felt a hand casually moving one side of his open hoodie and got the idea Kurt was seeing how bad it was, a sensation that was simultaneously mortifying and everything Sam wanted. In his mind, he almost felt like he was propped up on Kurt's bed, getting inspected and wanting to shake and shudder. He didn't get the mixed feeling, or why it was so big and confusing. Obviously he wanted Kurt to look at him, and to like what he saw, but it was laced with a fear that he wouldn't.

"All day?" Kurt asked him. His voice was solicitous, nice. Too nice.

"Please don't be mad," Sam pleaded, his left arm curling self-consciously. The weight of his cuff seemed more of a threat than a comfort as he clutched at the back of his head. The bell rang, then, marking the end of the passing period. The five minutes afforded to students to get from class to class had blinked by without Sam being able to get up.

"Not that it isn't adorable when you cower before me," laughed Kurt, "but I'm not mad. Just thinking about taking you to the nurse. Poor thing."

Sam flushed past red into what felt like purple with horrified shame.

His Dom leaned back again, and Sam quickly drew his arm away and tucked it over his lap, fingers tugging the other side of his hoodie over the bulge in his jeans.

"Miss Holliday?"

His mind had gone slippery, too hot to keep ahold of. The nurse? The nurse? He was so pathetic he had to go to the _nurse_? Sam twitched in his jeans as Kurt asked for a hall pass. He could hear Miss Holliday reply, and had no idea what she was saying, but they were talking. He snapped into automatic, unquestioning obedience when Kurt grabbed him by the back of his collar.

"Stand."

Sam blindly unfolded and almost pushed his chair right over with the backs of his knees. Deftly, Kurt caught it and scooted it back, then handed Sam his notebook and hauled him out.

It wasn't until they were out in the empty hallways, where there was a quiet underlaid with the white noise of teachers calling roll in each classroom they passed by, that Sam thought to beg.

"Please don't make me go to the nurse."

"No?" Kurt asked. "You look feverish to me."

"I'm not..."

"Well, I think you'll benefit greatly from a little check-up," purred Kurt. "So I want you to let me take you there."

Sam didn't follow, but Kurt let his hood go and grasped for his wrist, and all the protests that were making noise in Sam retreated, silenced.

 

*

 

Sam had only been to the nurse once, after his brush with Karofsky, and Mike had come with him. He'd kind of been in trouble, then, and the nurse had shined a light in his eye, asked him if he could read the eye chart, and given him a hard ice pack. Then she'd called his mom and sent Mike on his way. Beiste had come in a few minutes later and given him a lecture, and with his eye throbbing and his head ringing, Sam had privately angsted, afraid his mom was going to assume Karofsky had tried something funny.

But the shiner had been worth it. Mike had sent Quinn, who took his ice pack from him and fussed about men and testosterone and told him she hadn't asked him to be part of that on purpose, since they weren't dating and she had no control over Sam and his actions... but that she was glad he'd stood up for Kurt. It had gotten him points, though, Sam remembered, and after the wedding, Quinn had said, _Does your offer to serve me still stand? You've proved to me that chivalry isn't dead, and I could use a knight in shining armor._

Some courtly gentleman he was now. Kurt opened the door for him, rather than vice versa, and brandished the pink pass at the woman behind the desk importantly.

The nurse took it. Then she snorted.

"Sub problem. Uh-huh. I remember you, pouty. In the back. I find anything on the walls, you will be having a different problem altogether. Get my drift?"

"Gotcha," said Kurt. "Thank you."

"They do not pay me enough," she grumped, penciling in their names from the pass. "I am not a janitor."

Yielding utterly to Kurt's steering, Sam followed in silence into the infirmary area, meek and alarmed and aching. Sub problem. He was a problem. What if the nurse called his mother again. What if she said, _Mm-hmm, Mrs. Evans, we're having a problem with your son. He's having some issues with his behavior. He's a horrible sub! We're going to have to ask you to come pick him up..._

Kurt led him past a small row of beds. Only one of them was occupied by a Cheerio in a neck brace, and she had a pink sleeping mask over her eyes. Seeming to know what he was doing, Kurt walked right up to a pale blue curtain and drew it aside. Behind it was simply wood paneling – the wall. However, Kurt quickly located a groove and parted the wall, sliding a section of it aside smoothly.

Sam barely had the brainpower to think of anything other than Batman; he was kind of expecting to wind up sliding down a pole when Kurt urged him forward into the opening.

But it wasn't the Batcave. It was a small, dark room. A slim, short rectangular window up near the ceiling tried to let in some light through its completely mottled glass, but it had been papered over, so it was super dim, but still allowed light enough for Sam's eyes to see that the back wall was just cinder blocks that had been painted a dull blue. The others were wood, giving Sam the impression that they were in a disused storage closet. But instead of brooms or desks stacked upside-down, there was an infirmary bed with a teal blue vinyl cushion devoid of sheets butted into the corner. A red plastic chair like the ones in the choir room only just fit in there beside it. Under the window there hung a plain old metal paper towel dispenser like in all the restrooms.

Kurt ducked under the curtain that hid the door from view entirely and slid in too, letting the curtain fall, then drawing the door closed behind them with a quiet roll and _snick_.

"What is this?" Sam asked him. It smelled a little like the locker room, although honestly Sam had no idea how much of that was just the smell of his own body heat and sweat and how much was floor wax and a lack of fresh air.

"Our private suite, apparently," Kurt said, glancing around once with an arched, judging brow. He reached for a light switch, but decided not to flip it. "I heard about this from Puck, but I have to say, I didn't actually believe it until I saw what Miss Holliday wrote on the pass."

A tremor went through Sam. He still didn't know what this room was, but he knew it was private and purposefully hidden, and now that the door was closed, he could see the poster on the back of it that he felt sure had been made by Ms. Pillsbury. It had a cartoon guy with a blocky Devo hat and it said, _MUST YOU "Whip It"? Six Signs Your Sub's Shaped Up_. There were a couple of other ones, too, but Sam couldn't even see them once his brain had processed the first.

It felt like a room set aside just for Doms and subs, but he couldn't think why, unless...

"Am I getting punished?" he asked, feeling his eyes widen.

"Mm, hardly," said Kurt, downright sultry. "I just don't think you can make it through another two classes and then glee. Am I right?"

Even though Kurt had just said he wasn't being punished, his stomach still dropped like lead.

Kurt reached out and took his trapper from his stunned arm, leaving him with his hard-on obvious even under his t-shirt and hoodie. He saw Kurt's teeth momentarily bite at his lower lip.

"Turn around," Kurt instructed softly, and proceeded to pull Sam's hoodie down his arms, having to work the cuffs off over each wrist that was so thickly collared, and Sam closed his eyes in dim shock when Kurt pushed his t-shirt up his back, baring it. He raised his arms and helped it off cooperatively, wondering wildly if he was going to be stripped down to nothing... right then and there... 

When Kurt reached around him and tackled his belt, Sam groaned, trying not to buckle into a pile of useless limbs on the floor.

"Kurt," he wheezed helplessly. Kurt's arms were around him. His belt was sliding, lead by Kurt's fingers. They were at school. It didn't seem right. He was totally confused. But that sensation was slammed down by the mere fact that Kurt was undressing him, which he wouldn't have stopped for anything.

"I'm going to take care of you, Sam," Kurt told him, kissing the knob of his spine and sending chills up and down it. His hands had worked Sam's belt open, and his jeans were next, the button slipping right through its hole. Sam swayed on the spot, so turned on by the sound and feel of Kurt carefully taking his zipper down, opening his pants up, that he felt faint. He almost exploded right on the spot when Kurt's hand crept into his zip and rubbed teasingly over the rigid spine of his cock that was stretching his boxers. But it was only a momentary touch. Then Kurt's hands urged him by the hips to the naked bed. "Lie down."

Clumsily, Sam eased himself onto it, his legs too long and his feet in his high-tops sticking out over the end of it awkwardly.

"I said down, Sam," Kurt said, a hand on Sam's chest. Sam slid off his tense elbows and sank back, honestly incapable of taking in much of anything other than the cool vinyl becoming hot under him in a split second and Kurt standing next to him, looking down at him. A burst of intensity barreled its way through Sam as he stared up at his Dom. Something was going to happen. Somehow it was only just fully hitting him.

The realization echoed in him, booming, when Kurt reached down and pulled his jeans down a couple of careful inches. He abruptly remembered Kurt inspecting him yesterday, talking about his hipbones, his abs. He gripped at the sides of the cushion beneath him, spiraling dangerously close to just creaming his boxers knowing Kurt was looking at his body.

"I never thought I'd get to do something like this," Kurt whispered. "Tend to my hot football player sub 'cause he's so hard for me, he can't get through the day. Wearing my collar in front of everyone. But you're hotter than anything I ever imagined."

"'M gonna come," Sam huffed, his throat completely strangled with the enormity of it, "please –"

With a delicate hook of his index finger, Kurt pulled the waistband of Sam's boxers down just enough for the head of his cock to poke free. Then he palmed the caught curve of Sam's junk through the cotton, breathing, "Go ahead. Come for me."

The perfect coaxing touch would've done it even if Kurt hadn't given him permission. His hips jacked up in a hard flex. Come shot up his chest fast and heavy and hot, coating his skin with stripe after stripe in pulses of aching muscle and flesh. He couldn't – he couldn't – he couldn't _help it_. He had no dignity. No control. Something else in Sam, some other tension, gave abruptly, just snapping and disappearing. He was covering himself in his own jizz and whimpering through weak little spurts that flung heavy droplets over his abs and Kurt was encouraging him, murmuring, "That's it, Sam. That's good."

"K-Kurt," rattled out of Sam.

"That's my good boy."

Sam felt like he was maybe shaking the bed underneath him, but wasn't exactly sure. He just felt his muscles hit a final flex and then soften, and his world narrowed down to nothing but the warmth of Kurt's hand on him and the sound of his own gasping breaths echoing in the dim little room. Something in him wanted to stop himself from wheezing so openly, but the rest of him realized how little of a choice he had, and hid under the safe knowledge.

"My sweet little sub," Kurt sighed, nosing at his cheek softly. "You've been needing to blow that wad all day."

Outrageously sensitive, Sam jerked like Kurt had electrocuted him. Even though his cock was on its way to softening under Kurt's hand, it strained, and Kurt chuckled breathily, carefully using the back of his hand to keep the elastic of Sam's underwear from getting wet.

"Bet you didn't jerk off last night," Kurt said. Muzzy, Sam shook his head once, a flare of guilt going off in him as he momentarily envisioned his sleeping bag on the floor. "You said you don't too often – that you don't have much privacy."

Sam tried to answer with something, but his brain seemed disconnected from his voice, and he didn't have the words to tell Kurt why. So he just grunted awkwardly, and Kurt let him drift for a few long, warm moments.

"Paper towels," he finally muttered, tisking. "I should complain to Figgins."

Sam's eyelids lifted, heavy, as Kurt moved, and he tilted his head on the vinyl curve that seemed to serve in place of a pillow to watch Kurt arch and pull a plain brown paper towel from the dispenser above. After a glance down at Sam, he went for another.

"Look at all this come you shot off for me," he said, looking pleased even though he was mopping it up with the slightly scratchy towel. Sam looked, as if that had been a command of some kind, and... yeah. Even more than he could feel it, lukewarm and copious on him, he could smell it. The whole room smelled like his come now, and Kurt was having to clean him up. Sam's gaze drifted to the back of the door, those posters reminding him that he was basically in a closet at McKinley High.

Everything felt too surreal to believe – but that was when his mind locked in on the sturdy cuffs on his wrists and he let it go. Kurt had taken him here... taken care of him. His mind swung heavily from self-conscious to that safe place. There, time seemed to melt by, swirling and drifting out of focus. Kurt leaned and pulled out a third paper towel, and it registered with Sam, but only just. 

"Did I get it all?" Kurt eventually asked him, lifting him mentally to attention. Sam picked up his head to look, then nodded. His skin felt a little grimy, but it wasn't shiny or wet anywhere he could see. Kurt adjusted his waistband capably. "Good. Sorry I don't have my moist towelettes with me. I usually have a pack or two."

"'S okay," Sam managed under his breath. "Sorry I..."

"Sorry you what?"

"That... about this. 'M sorry."

"Do you think you can go conjugate some verbs for Mr. Schue?" asked Kurt.

"Yeah," squeaked Sam. Frankly, he wasn't sure of the actual likelihood of that, but he wanted to respond affirmatively.

"Sit up for me, sub. Let me dress you," Kurt said decisively, reaching for the t-shirt he'd laid on his bookbag. 

Sam's attention landed square on the tight fit of his skinny pants, which were much, much snugger than Sam's jeans were, and did him zero favors of hiding the line of his hard-on. Sam was still on his back, staring at it, when Kurt got his t-shirt right-side-out again. Quickly, Sam heaved himself up, and even though he was coming back into himself and obviously could have put a t-shirt on himself, he let Kurt work his arms into the sleeves of his tee and rustle it over his head, tugging it down into place.

"Kurt?" he said, and it seemed so loud for some reason.

"Angel," returned Kurt.

Sam somehow blushed.

"Can't I –" He felt his voice slink down to a more furtive register. "... What about you?"

"What about me?" Kurt asked innocently, snagging Sam's hoodie.

"You're boned."

"Of course I am. Arm."

Sam stuck it through the sleeve Kurt was offering him, then arched to try and get into the other, still sitting there stupidly on the bed with his feet hanging off.

"Do you not want me to do something?" he asked, feeling inept. "I could –"

Kurt grinned, straightening Sam's collar in a fussy fashion. "Do tell."

"I could suck you off," Sam said, staring at the buttons on Kurt's vest, then daring to look up at his face. The glow of muted spring sunlight caught in his hair here and there, lighting up chestnut streaks that were new to Sam's eyes, and fell on his pale skin enough to highlight the ruddy flush in his cheeks. His neat, smart mouth smiled.

"Really? That's a tempting offer."

But for some reason, Kurt just stood there and tied the strings on Sam's hoodie into a bow. He wasn't even zipped, so Sam didn't get what was happening.

"You don't want me to?" he asked.

Kurt's lips curled.

"Oh, I'd love nothing more. And I love that you offered. It's very noble of you. But, no." Seeing Sam's face, which he could feel crumbling into ruins, he added, "I don't want to lose it like yesterday. The next time I let you have me in your mouth, I want to be able to enjoy it for more than a split second. I've got a long sweater in my locker and Mrs. Hagberg teaching me the wrong way to break eggs to look forward to, so I'll be fine. Put those Precious Moments puppy-dog eyes away."

Moving in self-conscious reflex, Sam ducked his head low and blinked, then squinted, trying to get his eyes to look normal and to bite back his disappointment.

"Stand up and button your pants."

Sam slid from the bed and obeyed, realizing as he hiked his zip and re-fastened the button that Kurt was actively watching him do it, like it pleased him in some way. Sam guessed maybe he just liked seeing his wishes carried out in front of him, but it still made him feel obedient – and after not being able to keep it together, even during school, and asking for something that wasn't welcome, it was almost a surprise.

"Is this good?" Sam asked, wondering if his guess was on-target.

"Very good," said Kurt, tugging on the front of his hoodie affectionately. "I'm proud of you."

"For what?"

"I'm proud that you let me bring you here. I know you didn't want to have to go to the nurse. Even though you were having trouble, you behaved in front of her, and for that matter, Miss Holliday. You could have let me go on ignorantly thinking you were just tired – which, given that you apparently sleep in a bag, I was thoroughly convinced you were – but instead you told me what was up." Kurt's hands slid from his hoodie and clutched at Sam's wrists, which made his blood surge helplessly. "Do you see why I'm proud?"

Sam thought for a few seconds. "'Cause I was honest?"

"Yes. Honest. And so perfectly obedient." Kurt smiled up at him.

Altogether, it made the weight of Sam's true self come crashing down.

"Please let me suck your dick," he breathed. His eyelids were the only thing to drop, partially because he knew already that the answer was no, and he was wrong to ask.

Kurt inhaled audibly, but said, "Not now. Another time." Sam nodded, earning himself a hand smoothing his hair. "Let's get to class. Then I'll see you in glee."

 

*

Miss Holliday was in the choir room that afternoon, and gave Sam a feline smile that suggested she knew exactly where he'd been since she saw him last. Sam suddenly wondered what she'd written on the hall pass. _Sub problem_? Did she know about that closet thing? Did everybody know about it but him?

Quinn was there, too, and Santana. Obviously. Santana merely rolled her eyes at the sight of them, crossing her arms and then pretending neither he or Kurt existed, and Quinn stared over her shoulder at his cuffs for a full minute even though she was sitting with Finn. Not sure how to feel about the perturbed look on her face, Sam put his arm around Kurt's chair, and Kurt scooted closer to him, gracing him with a warm smirk.

When she seated herself between Mercedes and Sam, Rachel took it upon herself to say, loudly, "Congratulations on the buckling, Kurt and Sam. I, for one, am glad you've made such an obvious and public commitment, rather than sneak around like you have something to be ashamed of. True devotion is the kind of thing everyone needs to be witness to."

Quinn and Finn glared at her simultaneously.

"Thanks, weirdo, for the ringing endorsement," Kurt said, bewildered.

"It just got awkward as hell up in here," observed Lauren Zizes, making Puck snort.

"Okay, guys," Mr. Schuester announced, clapping his hands. If he'd intended to dismiss the tension in the air, he just undid it by saying, "Good to see you're back today, Kurt and Sam. We're all thrilled for you."

There was a beat of silence.

"Wow," said Miss Holliday. "Let's do some planning! Did everyone think of an under-appreciated, underrated artist?"

They didn't sing – they just argued about a concert Mr. Schue wanted to put on to help raise money for Nationals, which had apparently been decided on without Sam and Kurt yesterday. Rachel spent much of the time trying to control the roster of performances and everyone's decisions. When no one else volunteered to emcee, Sam put up his hand, which seemed to please Kurt. Sam was kind of surprised Kurt didn't put himself forward for a solo, but also, Rachel was being so resplendently angry with Finn and Quinn, it was distracting and funny to watch.

After glee, Kurt actually walked him to his bus stop by the wrist, nuzzling his cheek hot before sending him home full of futile excitement.

By the time Sam got home, he was ready to collapse, and he did, going right down onto his belly on his sleeping bag and groaning shortly when Stacey dog-piled him, flopping onto his back.

"How'd it go today?" his mom asked. "Did people give you a hard time?"

"Nah," he said, stuffing his pillow under his cheek. He briefly considered Jacob Ben Israel, but that seemed like the least important thing now. "Haters are just jelly."

"You're jelly, Sammy," said Stacey, giggling playfully.

"That makes you peanut butter," Sam teased.

"I'm the bread," Stevie spoke up, making Stacey shriek as he climbed on top of the pile and squished her between them. Sam felt good and flattened to the floor, which for some reason made him feel right at home. He hadn't heard Stevie being goofy in forever.

"I'm a Sam-wich now," he kidded, getting uproarious laughs.

It occurred to him right then that he was happy. He really was. Homeless and possessionless, and his good grade in geometry didn't negate his D in English, and he had to rest up for the couple of hours he had until he had to get out in the van and deliver pizzas till midnight, but he had cuffs on his wrists, and could call Kurt on his break. He hugged the pillow, unable to keep his mind from going to Kurt like a moth to a flame.

They were all still in a pile, Stacey with her pink sneakers and pigtails and ticklishness and Stevie pretending he wasn't tickling her on purpose and Sam perfectly content under their wiggly weight, when someone knocked on the door.

"Stacey, you're too loud!" Stevie hissed immediately.

"Sorry," Stacey said, with no additional volume control.

Sam's mom paused at the door, peeking out the hole, then paused again. 

Then she opened up and said a formal, "Hello. I hope we weren't expecting you."

"No," said a familiar smoky voice. Sam jerked from his blissful mindlessness, sending Stevie toppling over.

"Quinn!" cried Stacey, scrambling off of Sam in extreme excitement. "Hi!"

Sam heard Quinn's sweet response. "Hi, Stacey! Hi, Stevie! Aw, hi! I've missed you!"

"I missed you, too!" Stacey said.

"I brought you something," Quinn said. "Is that all right, Mrs. Evans?"

"Of course," said Sam's mom, somewhat stilted from the surprise of her arrival, and probably even more self-conscious than Sam about where Quinn had found them.

Sam rolled over slowly, squeezing his eyes shut in resentful embarrassment when he took in her figure standing in their doorway. She was wearing a hat with her dress and heeled boots and carrying baskets like it was hipster Easter Sunday. She wasn't dressed any different than earlier and it had looked fine in the choir room, but compared to her shabby surroundings, here she looked exaggeratedly rich.

However, Stacey couldn't handle the joy of what Quinn handed her, and dropped onto her knees and bounced.

"And of course, for you, Stevie," she said.

"Cool!" Stevie let out. "Thanks, Quinn!"

"You're welcome. I know it's a week early, but I'm signed up for a lot of stuff during Easter week and I wasn't sure if I would see you guys between the decorating and greeting and serving food. Look, that's a pin, Stacey. Will you vote for me for prom queen?"

Sam finally opened his eyes, pushing himself up. Stacey was still right where she had fallen on the floor, tearing her Easter basket apart. It had pink plastic grass and a stuffed bunny and an insanely large box of crayons and plastic Hello Kitty junk, amongst a lot of other stuff half-hidden within. Stevie's grass was blue and had several activity books, some dinosaur stickers, and an action figure. Quinn knew exactly what the two of them liked. They were perfect baskets, nicer than basically everything his family currently owned, and somehow incredibly angering. It was selfish and wrong for his immediate response to be so negative, but it was.

"Sorry for coming by without calling," Quinn said with a careful smile. "But I couldn't get ahold of Sam."

"My phone's dead," said Sam shortly, shooting his mom an apologetic look. He hadn't given anyone but Kurt his new number. This was his ex and his fault.

"I was wondering if I could just talk to you for a minute. It won't take long," Quinn said, averting her eyes politely from the room.

"Sure."

"Thank you, Quinn. It was very sweet of you to think of us," said Sam's mom, forcing a really nice smile. "What do you say to Quinn for the Easter baskets?"

"Thank you!" chorused Stevie and Stacey, providing the backing melody for Sam to step onto the porch to. He caught his mom's eye for a moment before she closed the door, and the brief glance gave him strength.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but this isn't great of you," said Sam truthfully. "You could've given me a heads up or asked if you could come by."

"I've been trying to call you for a week, but your number's no longer in service."

"Well, sorry. The iPhones were the first to go."

"I went by your old house on Sunday," said Quinn, "but you weren't there. I saw the notice on the door. So after school on Monday, I followed you here. I just wanted to make sure you guys had a new place – somewhere to stay." Above the indignant exhales he was emitting, she said, "Sam, I knew there was something going on with you. You've worn the exact same clothes to church the last four weeks in a row, and you've worn those shoes to school every day, too."

"Okay. So you're Veronica Mars now. Why didn't you just ask me what was going on at school?"

"Are you kidding me?" she asked. "And ask you to step away from Kurt in front of everyone? Incite even more gossip? Make Finn paranoid? Make Santana jump all over me? Jeopardize my prom campaign? No, thank you. I'm sorry I tailed you. I'm not trying to be intrusive or rude. You're clearly keeping this to yourself. I just got worried. I wanted to know that you're okay."

"I'm okay," Sam said. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you going to be able to get your house back?" Quinn asked.

"Doubt it."

She looked stymied by the news. "I'm so sorry. What are you going to do?"

"Look for a different one. On the bright side, it's not your problem," said Sam with a shrug.

Quinn clutched her arms together awkwardly. "Despite everything that's happened, Sam, I did care about you. I still care about you. You might find that hard to believe, but it's true. If you can forgive me, I want you to consider me your friend."

"I forgive you, Quinn," said Sam. It was so immediate and thoughtless that he was surprised to realize that it was true. "There's no use being angry."

"Thanks," she said slowly. "I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to lie to you. I know you didn't buy that stupid gumball story, anyway. If I hadn't told it, maybe you wouldn't have dumped me."

"Maybe," Sam said evasively. He honestly had no idea.

She eyed him with that same distraught look as she had in glee. He could actually see her trying to tuck the expression away and failing.

"Well, I didn't come here to dig up the past. Like I said, I want us to be friends. You can never have too many friends."

"If I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, I have to ask Kurt."

"Yeah. Of course," she said, acting like she wasn't somehow surprised that he wasn't defaulting and abiding with a, _Sure, anything you want_. "Finn's fine with it. I'm sure Kurt will be, too."

"Probably. But if he's not, then... just know I'm not going to carry a grudge. Stuff happens for a reason."

Quinn stepped forward, and Sam knew the hug was coming, deciding after a second of uncertainty to accept it. With his arms around her, he was abruptly doused with sensory memories of what it had been like to be with her. He had a flashback to how it had felt to be allowed to kiss her, and her small curvy ballerina body on top of his, and her voice in his ear telling him to say her name. Something in him tugged, and he ended the embrace as politely and casually as he could.

"I should get back inside," he said, irrationally wanting to hide. "My mom's always worn out around now, so I try to take the kids off her hands."

"Let me know if you ever need help. Like, a baby-sitter," said Quinn. "Please. Tell your mom I'm free on weeknights and Saturdays before dinnertime. And I still have my Barbie Dreamhouse if Stacey wants to come over."

"'Kay," said Sam, lips twitching into a smile. "Thanks."

After a pause, he reached for the doorknob, and she sensed it really was the end of the conversation. Turning, she said over her shoulder, "Of course, I don't want to butt in. I'm sure Kurt's been a real help to you. He's probably not too awkward with kids, and I'm sure he's not dismissive about your faith to your face. Call me if you need a friend." 

As she headed down the steps from the porch, Sam blinked, feeling like he'd been hit upside the head. He was more than familiar with Quinn's passive-aggressive nature. He'd heard worse than that from her when he'd belonged to her. The painful part was that she'd just struck a terrible, vulnerable nerve, and he knew she'd plucked it totally on purpose.

"Quinn," he called, heading after her. She stopped at the broken curb, allowing him to catch up to her. "You're not going to tell anybody, are you?"

"No, of course not." She watched him close his eyes and sigh, both relieved and agitated, then advised, "But you might want to ask Kurt to help you find some new clothes. Your Converse and Levi's are cute, but getting worn out fast. You know how kids at school are. They notice this kind of thing. Right now it's all about your cuffs and who your Dom is, but unless you shape up, they're going to notice you're cycling through about four shirts total, hiding them under hoodies and your letterman jacket. Maybe they'll blame it on you playing musical Doms, but if you don't want people to question it..."

Sam nodded blankly.

"I can't believe Kurt hasn't given you a head-to-toe makeover," she mused, smiling as she walked away. "I bet he's dying to."

 

*

 

"Sorry," Sam muttered when he closed their door again. 

He kept his voice soft and light, and even said it with a small smile, all for Stevie and Stacey's benefit. They all tried hard to keep up a nonchalance so the kids wouldn't be over-burdened and worried. They'd even gotten kind of good at it the past couple of weeks, pretending this was all normal. The way his younger siblings were hypnotized by the pristine new colorful Easter baskets just proved that things weren't normal at all. Like most of the rest of their stuff, they'd lost the baskets they usually toted on their egg hunts. Sam had a vision of himself hiding plastic eggs in the motel parking lot. Could they afford that?

"That's all right," his mom said. She had confiscated the candy and was putting it in a plastic bag. "Quinn is always welcome. Did you thank her?"

"Yeah."

"I saw her look at your wrists. I bet she's jelly beans."

If she was trying to get a laugh out of him with the joke, it worked. "Yeah. That's probably it."

"She always was nice to have around," said Sam's mom. "Are we going to be seeing her again?"

"She said you could call her to baby-sit just about anytime," Sam said, banishing himself back onto his sleeping bag.

This time, no kids in need of rough-housing piled him, and he blinked off into a blur of thought, staring at the old carpet and the jagged edge of a tag falling off the ugly floral comforter on the bed. He knew his parents liked Quinn. He'd wanted them to. Would they like Kurt just as much? Even if he didn't go to church? Even if he didn't have that maternal instinct and had never baby-sat a day in his life? And would Kurt like his parents?

"Since you're here, I'm going to go drop off these applications around midtown and see if there aren't any more places I missed. Can you fix dinner?"

"Mm," Sam acknowledged with a nod.

"There's chicken noodle soup. Not your favorite, I know."

"I like it!" Stacey announced.

"Good. Sammy will make some for you when you're hungry." She put her purse on her shoulder, sighing briefly. "I'll be back in time for your shift. Your dad should check in by six."

"'Kay."

Sam heard her making Stevie and Stacey promise to be good for him and to remember not to open the door for strangers or turn on the hot plate, and to remember not to yell. Of course Kurt would like his mom. Who wouldn't like his mom? She was awesome. She'd made his cheap K-mart jeans look like Levi's.

He didn't need to be worried about his clothes... did he?

And Quinn wouldn't approach Kurt about him and let on that he'd been secretly living here for weeks... would she?

A horrible fantasy arose in his brain about Jacob Ben Israel finding him at his locker and shoving a tape-recorder into his face and yelling, _Sam Evans, is it true that the glee club will be performing a mash-up of Jay-Z's "99 Problems" and Eminem's "Guilty Conscience" at Nationals in honor of your spectacular failures? On that note, how goes your upcoming relocation to the moon?_

With his mom locking up the door behind her, he reached for his backpack, which he'd half jammed under the bed when he'd gotten home, and reached for the zip on the front pocket.

It was where he kept the little things Kurt had given him since taking him on. For days, Kurt had handed the things to Sam randomly in the hallway between classes, these total surprises. Sam had literally never once expected any of them, and had kept every single thing.

A tube of plain ChapStick, its black wrapper beginning to peel from use. A red and black Chinese finger trap that had entertained Sam for a week's worth of geography classes before starting to fray. Now it was just to touch sometimes. There were a few loose Laffy Taffy wrappers; Sam could never resist them for the sake of the bad jokes he knew were in there. There was a smooth metal pitch pipe, which made Sam ache for his guitar.

Everything was lost in a shuffle amongst numerous notes. A couple of them took up whole sheets of notebook paper and were filled with kind words. _Dear Sam, I don't know what it is, but you look extra handsome today..._ Some of them were just one sentence on a folded index card. _Good luck on your test, beautiful!_ The one Sam had looked at the most was almost falling apart at its folds. In green pen, Kurt had written, _You're mine now and don't you forget it!_

The most innocent-looking yet ultimately fascinating prize was a tiny flash drive that looked like a red Lego on a key chain. Sam didn't have a computer to look at the contents on anymore, so he'd asked Mike if he could look at it on his laptop in the school library. It had a bunch of mp3s on it, and a random array of pictures he could only look at in his mind now: pictures of Earth from space where you could see highly populated areas like New York and LA glowing with lights; hyper-colorful jungle frogs; Ponyboy with his bleached hair in _The Outsiders_ ; shadowed or otherwise faceless underwear models; muscular arms bound in complicated rope knots... Some stuff he hadn't been able to look at yet because he didn't dare do it in the library. Sam wasn't sure if all the songs and pictures were a message or just things Kurt liked in general, but either way, they made Sam's gears turn and his brain bounce around like a pinball.

He ran his thumb over the Lego flash drive's studs and slid it out of the pocket to hold in his grip, enclosing it entirely.

Until yesterday, Sam had kept all these things as proof Kurt really was considering him, every little thing a boon against constant self-doubt. Now his cuffs were the ultimate proof. He was Kurt's sub, for real, and owed him so much.

Fingers squirming into his jeans pocket, he pulled the crumpled pass the nurse had written for him. He'd had to hand it to Mr. Schue when he'd finally gotten to Spanish, but for some reason, Mr. Schue had just glanced at it and handed it back to him before going to update Sam's status in his roll book, encouraging the class to repeat after him all the while. Staring at the slip, Sam worried his lower lip.

His name. The date and time. Her signature. That was all that was on it, but Sam knew what it all added up to. _Sub problem._

Everything in him knew it was true.

Things were coming down around him fast, like dominoes knocking each other over. He couldn't hide anything from his parents. He couldn't hide anything from Quinn. And now that she knew where he was living, Kurt was going to find out about all of this, because – Sam couldn't hide anything from him any more. He needed to choke down the battered remains of his pride and confess. He didn't want Kurt to find out from Quinn, of all people. How stupid was he to have just hoped this would all go away? He thought they'd be here for a week, max. But his family had been without a home for weeks. How could he still have hope that any day now, they'd be moving out again and his life would return to normal? How stupid had he been to think no one knew? Quinn had to be able to tell that Kurt had no idea what was going on.

He deserved to be punished.

He didn't want to lose the right to ask for Kurt's attention, or jeopardize the fragile concept his Dom had of the extreme extent Sam would go to serve him and earn his love. He was just the worst sub.

He needed to be bound. With rope, like in the pictures, if that was what Kurt liked. He needed to be made over; made into an object that would please. He needed to be shown what was right. He longed to be good and make Kurt proud, really proud, but first he needed to be made worthy of his Master...

For the third or fourth time that day alone, Sam left the Earth behind, clutching his Lego drive and flattening his kneejerked arousal into the floor as he fuzzed out, floated, and disappeared.


End file.
